


Five Guys

by Annaelle



Series: Marvel Oneshots [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Basically, Blushing Steve Rogers, M/M, Shameless Flirt Tony Stark, Stony ficlet, Tony Takes Steve Shopping, this is a gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 03:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13473027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaelle/pseuds/Annaelle
Summary: PROMPT: “What if Five Guys was actually a place where there would be five (gay) dudes looking at you and giving you the most intense make-over in the history of makeovers? Imagine Tony dragging Steve there.”“I still don’t see why this all is necessary.”“Because it should be a capital offense to hide that delectable ass behind ill-fitting khaki, Cap,” Tony replied as he looked up at Steve, smirking obscenely, dragging his tongue past his lower lip slowly as he looked Steve up and down. “You could do with a makeover. And you need a suit. I’m not letting you come to the gala as my date in a rental suit.”





	Five Guys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Juulna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juulna/gifts).



> *waves* Hi! So uh... This is what happens when me and my best friend are left alone too long. He put this idea of Five Guys being a fashion thing rather than a hamburger thing, and... voilà :p 
> 
> For my beloved Juuls :D I love you, doll. 
> 
> I have never written Stony before. I hope I did them justice :D 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Love, Annaelle

**Five Guys**

**PROMPT: “What if Five Guys was actually a place where there would be five (gay) dudes looking at you and giving you the most intense make-over in the history of makeovers? Imagine Tony dragging Steve there.”**

\--

“I still don’t see why this all is necessary.”

Steve eyed the store before him warily and glared at Tony, who stood beside him in a suit that probably cost more than Steve and Bucky’s entire family had made in a year, red-tinted glasses pushed high up his nose as he tapped at his phone lazily. “Because it should be a capital offense to hide _that_ delectable ass behind ill-fitting khaki, Cap,” Tony replied as he looked up at Steve, smirking obscenely, dragging his tongue past his lower lip slowly as he looked Steve up and down. “You could do with a makeover. And you need a suit. I’m not letting you come to the gala as my date in a _rental_ suit.”

Steve barely managed to conceal a grin at the actual _distaste_ in Tony’s voice, but his cheeks were still burning and his breath was a little rougher because as much as he _hated_ it when Tony talked like that in public, Steve also really _loved_ it when Tony talked like that.

“Plus,” Tony continued relentlessly, slipping his phone in his pocket and stepping up right beside Steve, smirking up at him in a way that never boded very well for anyone. “Imagine how much _fun_ we’ll have peeling you _out_ of a bespoke suit after the party.” His hand, that had been resting in the middle of Steve’s back, slid down abruptly and came to rest on his butt.

Steve squeaked and jumped forward, towards the door and away from Tony’s questing hands and undoubtedly devious intentions.

“Let’s—” he stuttered, struggling to hide just how _flustered_ he was. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He pushed open the door before he could second-guess himself—before he could remind himself that he was _not_ a bespoke suit kind of fella, even if the fella he’d been fooling around with was—and stepped inside, freezing the moment he’d set more than a foot inside.

It didn’t look like a store.

It didn’t look like anything he had expected, and it threw him.

There was a small, raised dais off to the side of the room, next to an honest-to-God drink cart filled with tumblers and champagne glasses and various bottles of liquor. There were comfortable, sleek chairs and a small glass table, and even though there _were_ actually racks with suit jackets and neatly pressed trousers and perfectly folded shirts and polished shoes that pinched Steve’s toes even _looking_ at them, the space didn’t feel as clinical and uncomfortable as he had expected it to.

He moved sluggishly when Tony shoved him forward, nearly tripping over his own feet and sprawling all over the expensive carpet rather gracelessly. He managed to catch himself on the counter, which stood hidden in a corner right by the door and was manned by a tall, handsome man who offered Steve a grin so brilliant he had to blink several times.

Wow.

“Welcome to Five Guys,” the man said cheerfully. “Mr. Rogers, correct?”

When Steve nodded affirmatively, still a little shell-shocked, the man tapped something on the computer screen before him and hummed pleasantly. “Ah yes, and I see Mr. Stark was kind enough to give us your measurements ahead of time too, excellent.”

Steve whirled around to glare at Tony, only to find his… his—well, he wasn’t sure _what_ Tony was to him or what he was to Tony—across the room, digging into the liquor cart until he unearthed a bottle of what looked like champagne. He grinned triumphantly at Steve when he turned back to him, and _damn him_.

How was Steve supposed to stay mad at him when he went and smiled at him like _that_?

“Tony,” he sighed, but the shorter man only shook his head at him, patting Steve’s cheek lightly as he passed.

“No, no. No complaining, Rogers, you promised. Come on, let’s go.” He wiggled his fingers at the man behind the counter and winked, before grabbing Steve by the front of his shirt and dragging him through a curtain that separated the front of the building from the back.

“Michael, Derek,” Tony exclaimed jovially as they emerged from the folds of the curtain, fingers still tightly curled around Steve’s shirt and the neck of his champagne bottle, “I hope you’re ready. I brought you a real treat today. Makeover _virgin_ here!”

Steve’s stomach _dropped_ when Tony’s teasing tone was met with two equally teasing squeals, belonging to two men who positively eyeballed Steve when he let Tony shove him forward. They looked like professionals, and Steve had no doubt they were—Tony had far too little patience for incompetence to go anywhere but the best—but he still wasn’t looking forward to playing dress up like he was a toddler incapable of picking his own clothes.

He’d only agreed because Tony had been doing that _thing_ with his tongue, and Steve had found he was entirely incapable of saying no to him when he did so.

He could _never_ let Tony figure that out.

He’d never hear the end of it, and Tony would use it to _always_ get his way.

“Oh my Lord,” one of the men breathed as he stared at Steve—and Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to have heard that exclamation, but… superhearing and all. “Now Tony, I hope that boy isn’t an actual virgin anymore, because that would be a _sin_.”

Steve choked on thin air, and his cheeks _flamed,_ and Tony _cackled_ , clutching at Steve’s shoulder for balance as he heaved in deep breaths. “Dear God, no,” Tony chuckled, digging his fingers into Steve’s side a little possessively, “I took care of that months ago.”

“Wh— _no, you didn’t_ ,” Steve sputtered indignantly, as the other occupants of the room howled with laughter. “He _didn’t_ ,” he told the three men that stood behind him, not really sure why he felt it was so important to emphasize that. “I wasn’t—he was _not_ my first. Not even my first guy, Tony, what the hell?”

Steve watched as Tony settled on a stuffed coach, popping open the bottle and taking a long drink before he winked at Steve. “I _am_ your best though,” he replied cheekily, and Steve could deny that and argue that his best _had_ actually been his first time, but it had been so entirely different from what he now had with Tony—tentative and undefined as it may be—that it didn’t feel fair to compare the two experiences at all.

Instead, he just shook his head and turned back to the five men, who he assumed were there to use him as their giant, living mannequin and opened his hand with a resigned sigh.

“Someone just give me something to try on.”

\--

Steve wasn’t pouting.

He was _not_.

He had been dressed, undressed and redressed more times than he could count. He’d been squeezed into tight outfits that squeezed _everything_ unpleasantly but _displayed_ his assets perfectly—or so he’d been assured by the five men who continuously surrounded him, poking and prodding at him until they were satisfied with his outfit and he was shoved in front of Tony.

Tony either laughed at him or—far more satisfyingly—stared at him with his jaw sagging a little and his eyes dark and glittering.

He didn’t mind the jeans and shirts so much—not even the casual suit jackets he had been wrestled into—but he would _not_ stand for the disturbingly tight pants they had foisted on him this time, regardless of how Tony’s eyes glittered with mirth and the men tittered behind him.

This was _worse_ than the goddamned tights he’d worn on the USO tour.

“No,” he told Tony sternly, fighting valiantly not to grin when Tony began laughing, tipping over on the sofa as he clutched at his stomach while giggling.

“I’m still not getting these,” he told Tony when the other man finally managed to come up for air, brushing tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes. “And you’re not getting them for me either,” he added before the other man could open his mouth, though Steve could tell that Tony had been a second away from suggesting _exactly_ that.

“Whatever you say, Big Guy,” Tony smirked, and Steve rolled his eyes as he stomped back into the dressing room—which was really a room on its own, with its own sofa and recessed wall with more closet space than Steve had in his entire apartment. He spent three minutes in a futile struggle with the tight pants—skinny jeans, he believed Mark called them—before he conceded and stomped back outside. “Someone help me get this _stupid_ thing off.”

All five of the men moved forward at once, and Steve couldn’t help but take a step back because _jeez_ , but Tony shooed them off before any of them could actually get their hands on Steve’s waistband.

“Easy boys,” Tony grinned, hooking his thumbs in Steve’s belt loops. “Hands off the merchandise.”

Steve let Tony push him back towards the changing room, watching in amusement as he kicked the door shut, and let Tony push him down on the sofa, hands slipping up his thighs and around Tony’s waist when the other man straddled him smoothly, pressing Steve back in the cushioned seat.

“Hi,” Steve breathed faintly, looking up at Tony appreciatively. “You know they’re probably listening at the door right now, right?”

“Well,” Tony grinned, leaning down so his lips were barely brushing across Steve’s. “Better make it worth their while then.” Steve’s heart squeezed a little in his chest in an odd mixture of fondness and exasperation before he nodded shakily, barely managing to smile before Tony’s lips were on his, his hands soft but insistent on Steve’s cheeks.

Steve kissed him back, slipping his fingers up into the other man’s hair for purchase, gasping against Tony’s lips when he deepened the kiss, tugging Steve’s shirt up until they _had_ to break the kiss to tug it over his head. “That wasn’t the item I needed help removing,” Steve remarked, grinning at the breathless look of desire and exasperation Tony gave him before he reeled Steve back in for a much messier kiss this time, with clacking teeth and too much tongue, and Steve _loved_ every second of it.

Tony’s hold on his hair was _just_ on the right edge of painful as he dragged Steve’s head back, mouthing his way down his throat with hot, open-mouthed kisses. “Fuck,” Steve moaned, heart pounding as he allowed himself to get _lost_ in Tony for a _moment_ before he forced himself to slow down.

“Tony,” he sighed, tugging on Tony’s hair gently. “They’re right outside. Not here, okay?”

Tony hummed against his neck, and Steve _shivered_ before Tony abruptly sat up and smirked at Steve. “Such a buzzkill,” he teased, tapping his thumb on Steve’s lower lip. “You know if I make you come in these pants, I’ll _have_ to get them.”

“You’re a dick, Stark,” Steve said without heat, rolling his eyes when Tony climbed off of him.

“You love my dick,” Tony replied airily, waving his hand in the air vaguely before pulling Steve back to his feet and shoving the pants down Steve’s legs in one smooth move. He smirked down at the bulge in Steve’s underwear—that he _caused_ , damn it—and cocked an eyebrow. “You need help with that?”

“Not right now,” Steve hissed, cheeks flaming with embarrassment again as he kicked off the pants and quickly slipped into the sweatpants that had been provided should he have to wait between changing styles and items of clothing.

Tony pouted, but pushed open the door anyway. “All yours, gentlemen.”

The five men gaped at him—and Steve didn’t want to think about how he looked right now. His skin was still stinging from where Tony had undoubtedly sucked a hickey, right smack dab in the middle of his neck, his hair sticking up in all directions and his shirt mysteriously missing.

Tony, unfortunately, did not look similarly affected, though Steve was proud to see his hair looked like a bird had nested in it too.

Score one for Steve.

“Oh, Captain,” one of the men, a shorter, darker-skinned man, sighed wistfully. “If it does not work out with Mr. Stark, you must promise to think of little old me.”

Steve blushed crimson again, and Tony cackled but stepped back to wrap an arm around Steve’s waist as he said, “Oh, no, Rodrigo, I’m keeping this one.” Steve stared at Tony, open-mouthed, because that was the first time since they’d begun sleeping together that Tony actually openly acknowledged there was something more going on.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, keeping his eyes on Tony, heart pounding high in his throat. “I think I’m keeping this one too.”

Steve was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind being kept so much this time, as long as he got Tony in return.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to FestiveFerret for the quick beta :D


End file.
